


Tumbleweeds

by Ophelias



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Anal Sex, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-05-07
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophelias/pseuds/Ophelias
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You’re the one who conditioned me to want it twice a day,” Anders pressed. “Anything less, and you leave me aching. It’s painful.” Fenris responded with a cocked eyebrow, “I’m sure you’ll manage.”</p><p>“I’ll get a blanket.” Anders suggested, wrapping his arms around Fenris’ waist. Lowering his head level with stark white hair, Anders let his breath fall on a sensitive ear. “Come on. Tell me you don’t want it.”</p><p>Fenris released a resigned sigh. “If you can find a good place to stop along the way, I may yet make it up to you. Somewhere different. Interesting. Also comfortable.” Anders scanned the inhospitable landscape ahead, cracked earth interrupted by rocky outcroppings and sparse vegetation “You’re on,” he agreed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prickly Pears

Anders dusted his pants while standing up. “Are you sure?” They had just finished off a light lunch, allowing their horses to drink their fill meanwhile. The river had drawn down to knee deep water and was headed towards a narrow canyon ahead. Where they stood, the ground swelled to a gentle slope.

Fenris smirked genially. “I’m sure.” The elf turned to hide the smirk he could no longer contain. He gazed at the westward desert, cracked earth dotted with rocky outcroppings and sparse vegetation. They stood among the last scattered patches of brownish grass, brittle blades whispering in the wind.

“Well, I’d just like to point out that you’re the one who conditioned me to want it,” Anders pressed. “Once in the morning and again before bed.” Reflecting on it, he was impressed and a tad flattered.

“And if the mood strikes me,” Fenris interrupted glibly, “in between.” He grinned like a cheshire cat.

“Exactly,” sighed Anders. “Anything less, and you leave me aching. It’s painful.”

Fenris snorted in derision. “It is not painful.” The warrior crossed his arms, idly walking forward. The elf tested his bare feet on the cracked earth, finding it very warm but not unbearably hot.

“Very uncomfortable,” Anders amended. He followed Fenris several steps behind, watching his posture for any sign of an answer. “Not to mention that riding a horse is… more challenging.”

Fenris cocked an eyebrow, not that Anders could see it. “You’re a healer. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

“I will,” Anders agreed. He took cautious steps toward Fenris. “I’ve managed this far. I just don’t want to. It’s not my fault we had to leave early this morning. It’s not fair, and we can manage right here. Where there’s still grass left.” The blonde gestured genially back the direction they came from at lusher turf.

Having breeched the distance, Anders wrapped his arms gently around Fenris’ waist. “I’ll get a blanket,” he suggested. He brought his erection to Fenris’ attention with a gentle rub. Lowering his head to shoulder level, he let his breath fall on a sensitive ear. “Come on. Tell me you don’t want it.” 

Fenris’ back stiffened. He pushed Anders’ arms gently away and turned resolutely back around.

“I don’t want it,” Fenris gambled. He shifted his balance from foot to foot, toes briefly rubbing an ankle.

“Unbelievable,” Anders said, throwing up his hands. “All those years in the Hanged Man cleaning the table at Wicked Grace? Your tell is in your feet, Fenris, where nobody looks. You can’t lie to me now.”

Fenris frowned. “I am not bluffing. Even if I were, I do show emotions with my feet.” He spoke the word ‘emotions’ as if he referred to a vaguely disgusting bodily function.

“Yes, you do,” Anders smiled. “And you don’t even know it. It would be adorable if it wasn’t so insidious.” The blonde’s smile turned to a frown as he began a frustrated rant. “You always lie to me when you’re trying to get the upper hand. And I’ve been letting you. Enough’s enough, Fenris.”

Fenris reached forward and grabbed Anders by the high collar of his coat. Adding a second hand, he pulled the taller man close until their noses were almost touching. Fenris snarled, venting his frustration openly. “I’ll tell you when enough is enough, mage.” Anders held his breath, eyes wide.

The warrior’s eyes narrowed. “You’re trying to rile me up.” He pushed the mage back, letting his collar go. Anders was ready and caught his balance after a step back. “It won’t work,” Fenris admonished.

“Fine,” Anders said bitterly. “You win. Just tell me there’s an end to this.” He drew his face together into a childish scowl, adjusting his flagging erection in his pants as he watched Fenris stride to their horses.

Fenris said nothing, adjusting the packs on his horse to distribute the weight evenly on either side. After a moment of looking on, Anders hazarded a second try. “Fenris?”

“Yes?” Fenris sounded grumpy and distracted.

“When?” Anders asked.

The elf’s next sentence came out softer but with a hard edge, somewhere between a confession and a warning. “I am not some machine that does your bidding, Anders. I am NOT your slave.”

“I…” Anders grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry. I just thought… maybe…” He sighed sadly. “Never mind.”

Fenris let out a deep breath, accepting the apology. “If you can find a good place to stop along the way, there is a chance I will make it up to you. Somewhere different. Interesting. Also comfortable.” He scratched his chin lightly in thought, the points of his gauntlets scraping pleasantly without pressure.

Anders scanned the rocky landscape ahead. There were few landmarks, just vertical rock formations and the occasional arch. He walked over and peered at the canyon ahead, the river trickling to a creek several stories down. The pebbled canyon floor looked no more hospitable than the surrounding plain.

More importantly, there was no way to tell how narrow the canyon would get in the hours ahead. It would be a waste to have to double back, especially if Fenris found no potential rest stop appealing.

“You’re on,” Anders agreed. He squared his shoulders with a determined expression.

The companions mounted their horses and continued heading west.


	2. Mirages

An hour later, Anders finally spotted an appealing location. He guided his horse nearer Fenris and yelled conversationally over the clop of the horse’s hooves. “How about over there?” He pointed out a smooth, partly formed arch a story tall. The rock in the middle hadn’t fully worn away, leaving a natural hollow. A pair of sparrows flew past heading back out of the desert, one following the other in a mad spiral. Their chirping lent an air of cheer to an otherwise arid environment.

Fenris stopped his horse to examine the hollow but ultimately declined. “No. We sheltered under an outcropping over a week ago.” The elf swatted a gnat from away his eyes, grunting in annoyance.

“What, you mean that mad story about the Qunari?” Anders smirked, reminiscing.

“That’s the one,” Fenris concurred. Anders reached an arm out, and Fenris took it despite the awkward distance between their horses. Anders squeezed nervously, shifting anxiously in his seat.

“I wouldn’t mind doing that again,” Anders proposed hopefully.

“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Fenris mused, returning the squeeze before dropping Anders’ hand. He returned his eyes to the path ahead, still extremely smug. “I recall I specified something different.”

Anders didn’t bother to hide the disappointment dripping from his voice. “Fine. Somewhere else then.”

“Somewhere else,” Fenris acknowledged. His nostrils flared as he noted at Anders’ deep discomfort.

A half hour later, Anders made another attempt. “Over there?” Anders pointed to a row of vertically stacked stones, their forms rounded over by persistent winds. The largest on the bottom was the width of a chair and half its height. The topmost rock stood above eye level, no larger than a mug of ale.

Fenris looked skeptical, but he stopped his horse to look closer. Anders elaborated, guiding his horse alongside as he tried to sell the idea. “You can tie my wrists on either side of the rocks. If any topple over, we stop. And I won’t complain no matter how long we wait after that. I swear I won’t. Please?”

It was a risk, Anders knew. Stopping midway through would be even worse than his current condition. However, he remembered reading that vertical rock columns usually have packed earth between them, serving as a sort of cement. Chances are they would not topple unless considerable force was applied.

Fenris looked over, bemused. Trust Anders to answer one challenge with another. He noted that Anders did not seem very worried at the risk. He decided not to fall for what he assumed was a clever gambit.

“No, I’ll pass.” Fenris glanced aside and snorted, noting Anders’ mouth left open in bemused shock.

“Really? I would have thought that was ‘different’ enough for your tastes.” Anders gathered himself, his feathered pauldrons puffing out as he drew his back straight in false indignation.

“Different, yes,” Fenris agreed. “Comfortable, no. If you recall, I require both.” Fenris found himself tapping his fingers against the saddle horn, watching Anders’ reaction with cold calculation.

Anders pouted. “I’m beginning to think you’re doing this just to spite me.” Thin lips beneath furrowed brows attested to the current frustration burning into a heady pique, threatening to spark into anger.

“No,” Fenris countered. “It’s a challenge, not a punishment.” Fenris again watched the blonde’s expression carefully, trying to provide enough hope to keep going but not enough to kill the suspense.

“But is it a challenge you expect me to overcome?” Anders asked. The blonde seemed unaware that his hips were sliding back and forth, rubbing him against the saddle’s front while he waited for an answer.

“Perhaps,” Fenris responded. Anders released a throaty, frustrated sigh. The terrain was unpredictable, and so was the wager. Lost in an inner argument, Anders debated whether to officially forfeit the game. Instead, he shook his head with a rueful grin and started them back on their westward path.

Two hours later, the creek reemerged from the canyon’s end as wide as a city street but barely ankle deep. Fenris slowed his horse and dismounted, guiding it to the river to drink. Anders was still so distracted that he had to double back after noticing that he was riding alone. As the mage dismounted, Fenris pulled the cantina from his pack and filled it with water from the river. They passed the canteen between them in silence, shoulder to shoulder. Then Fenris reattached the canteen to his belt.

“At this point,” Anders admitted with a blush, “I’d lie down in the creek bed if you wanted.” The river’s dregs burbled in assent, smooth rocks adding an inviting sheen where they poked above the water line.

Fenris chuckled, shaking his head, smiling. “Thank you, but no.” They stood in companionable silence.

Anders shifted uncomfortably, their mere proximity enough to cause his excitement to grow unchecked. He refused to be embarrassed over a bodily reaction that defied his control. He just watched the horses with a pained expression. Finally he whimpered and leaned in, propping his head onto Fenris’ shoulder.

“I notice you stopped pointing out noteworthy places,” Fenris mentioned, more statement than inquiry.

“Well, you didn’t seem very interested,” Anders stabbed. His temper was clearly ramping up again. The mage clutched Fenris’ upper arm in a desperate grip. The delectable feeling of firm skin over taut muscle caused him to whimper again. He clutched harder, rubbing a thumb along one brand with a sigh.

“I don’t know,” Fenris hinted. “I was enjoying our talks.” He put his arm around Anders’ waist. Anders let out a shudder, enticed and yet distraught at a wanton impulse to forgive. He released his posture, letting half his weight fall into Fenris’ arm, his head dropping lower. Fenris took the extra weight without comment, hand still gentle though his arm muscles tightened. It would be a comforting moment if Anders wasn’t so terrifically on edge. Instead his whimper stretched into a cry in a fit of mixed emotions.

“The thing is,” Anders confessed. “I see places everywhere now. Just none that you would like.”

Fenris looked over with compassion. “How do you know for sure know unless you ask?” He tipped Anders’ head back up to look him in the eyes. He measured the dilation of the blonde’s pupils, the heaviness of his breath, the speed of his pulse, and above all the expression of dazed desperation in his face. Fenris lowered his gaze to the tent in Anders’ trousers. Anders’ eyes followed as the elf’s palm snaked over to provide a gentle squeeze. Anders buckled, and Fenris caught him in an awkward hold.

The elf removed his palm, the arm around the mage’s waist urging him to resume holding his own weight. Though Anders lurched in drunken desire while standing back up, he finally angled his mouth to Fenris’ ear for a gentle attempt at seduction. “I just know.” It was a three word confession of what they had both noticed that day, that they had learned to read each other like the back of Anders’ hands. Or the underside of Fenris’ feet. The observation lightened Anders’ pointed accusation of chicanery.

Fenris’ grip tightened possessively around Anders’ waist. He turned, gently guiding Anders to face him. Their eyes locked, rendering the desert and its suffocating heat immaterial for several long seconds. Fenris nodded, dropped the pitch of his voice, using a slower drawl that he knew affected his companion. “From now on, tell me. Every place you consider. No matter how unlikely.”

“Okay,” Anders breathed. The mage couldn’t resist reaching forward for a hug. Fenris allowed the contact, then chuckled unsurprised when Anders used it as an excuse to rub the evidence of his excitement against the elf’s hipbone. Anders added, “But only because you asked me to.”

Fenris shifted his posture. Anders hummed contentedly upon finding his companion equally hard. He moved with a steady, grinding friction until Fenris grunted in displeasure and pulled back. As their bodies reluctantly separated, their eyes locked in another timeless moment. Anders’ open adoration even in the face of neglect made Fenris’ breath catch in his throat. A tumbleweed drifted by, unnoticed.

Fenris broke the silence with a cough, his horse having wandered back over. “We should go.” Anders nodded, reinvigorated by their discussion. “Right.” They remounted their horses and headed back out.


	3. Cacti

From this point on in their shared journey, ten minutes never went by without Anders pointing out another potential locale to stop at. Desert landmarks came and went, from the most arid dunes of the desert back to cracked flat earth and again to sparse vegetation with the occasional bird overhead.

“The riverbank. It’s perfectly smooth just there,” Anders tried. “Too sandy,” Fenris responded.

A sandy plateau appeared in the far distance. “Top of that plateau?” Anders attempted. Not getting an immediate answer, he added more. “Nice view, I’ll bet.” Fenris shrugged. “I’ve seen better.”

“That rock?” Anders pointed. “No.” Anders moved his finger. “That one?” Fenris looked. “Also no.” Anders moved his finger again. “How about that one?” Fenris scowled. “No rocks.” Anders frowned.

Fenris smirked. “That does not mean you should stop pointing them out.” Anders produced a wry smile, finally understanding. Fenris enjoyed picturing it, even if he had no intention of stopping their horses.

“Against that cactus?” Anders teased. He pointed out a classic three pronged trident of prickly spines.

“What?” Fenris looked confused. “No. Absolutely not.” He looked over to see if Anders was seriously suggesting using a spiny cactus as a supportive wall. Anders’ open smile made them both laugh.

Five minutes later, Anders pulled abruptly on his reins, stopping his horse. “Hold on, there.” He guided his horse to trot across the ankle deep water to the other side. Fenris slowed and turned, following Anders. The mage stopped his horse and waited until Fenris was gathered alongside him.

Anders let out a satisfied sigh. “Look,” he pointed towards the first grassy outcropping they had seen that day. “A step.” Sure enough, the grass began at the lip of a small crack in the earth, the opposite side reaching several inches higher. “You stand on that step, and I think you’ll be exactly the right height.”

Fenris brought his hand to his chin, musing. A silly smile came across his face. “Alright.”

Anders looked surprised. “Seriously?” He looked like a kid receiving a sweet after visiting the dentist. Fenris let his words speak for him, stripping his outer layer of armors and settling the pieces on or inside various packs on his horse. Cracking his neck, he walked toward the step. “You coming?”

“Yes!” Anders said with a start. He began disrobing overly quickly, hands shaking as he shucked his coat and shirt haphazardly on the saddle. Down to his trousers and boots, he walked towards the step. For the first time, he considered that they would be visible for nearly a mile in all directions. He found he couldn’t care less and didn’t bother to scan the horizon, eyes centered on the elven silhouette.

Breath sped in anticipation, Anders stood just below the step and faced Fenris. “How do you want me?” Voiced with such eagerness and anticipation, it was the most lascivious invitation the desert had ever witnessed. The answer came already prepared. “Hands on your ankles.” Anders nodded with a grin, pupils dilating. Fenris wasted no time, turning Anders around roughly and brushing his hardened cock against the mage’s rear. Anders bent over, pleased that Fenris knew the exact limits of his flexibility.

Fenris hummed, releasing himself from his leggings and rubbing himself thoughtfully along Anders’ backside. Anders was vibrating as he unlaced his trousers. Just as the waistband started slipping down, Fenris went still. He gurgled sadly, “No, this isn’t working.” The elf caressed the curve of Anders’ behind before taking a deep breath and stepping back. He reluctantly tucked himself back in his pants.

Anders’ hands froze. “What do you mean, this isn’t working?” His hand brushed along his own cock idly through the fabric of his trousers. He was so close. It would be so easy to pull it out and start stroking.

Fenris growled, turning Anders back around. “You said it would be exactly the right height. Your words.” It sounded as if he accused Anders of a violent crime, recrimination piling on top of disappointment.

“I’m sure you measured the height in your mind too,” Anders rejoined. “Otherwise, you wouldn’t have stopped.” He pulled his laces closed with an angry snap of his fists. He redid the laces in a sloppy bow.

“Yes, and we were both wrong.” Fenris looked down at his own shadow, shaking his head. His vision was soon filled with Anders’ fists tugging at his tunic, half ripping it off in determination to change his mind.

“No,” Anders shook his head. “No no no no no no. We’re never both wrong. Not at the same time.”

A beat passed before they said the word in unison. “Hawke.” As if the punctuate the joke, an unseen rattlesnake in the distance gave an audible warning of its presence. Despite it all, Anders sniggered.

It had officially become a running joke, the only known weakness they had both shared. Fenris shook his head. Anders gave a sigh at the joke. Then the mage slumped his shoulders. He half-heartedly turned and rubbed his backside against Fenris one more time, all too aware that the warrior remained hard and ready. Fenris resolutely turned and walked toward his horse. Anders followed, kicking the dust idly along the way, huffing sadly. He yelled up as Fenris mounted several yards away. “I’m not sure I can do this!”

Fenris turned his now darkened eyes his way. “You can,” he pronounced. “You will. Do it for me.” Fenris anticipated Anders attempting to sway him with a pout, so he preempted with big pleading eyes. They were not puppy eyes, but he had found them one of his most deadly weapons in their little game. And so it proved again. Anders took one look and gave in, his expression both deeply pained and pitiful.

They rode together in silence for another twenty minutes before Fenris spoke.

“No longer looking?” he inquired. Anders shook his head sideways in a non-answer, unwilling to talk.

“I see,” Fenris said carefully. He dared a glance at Anders’ trousers, at the evidence that Anders had not stopped thinking about their game entirely. Fenris noted the pinched expression in Anders’ eyes.

Fenris retrieved their map from his pack with a practiced hand while the other kept hold of the horse’s reins. Though he had to constantly readjust his gaze in response to the horse’s steady motions, he managed to compare the map with what he knew of their surroundings. A mountain range had just appeared in the far distance to the west. More locally, Fenris could see that the river turned north a couple miles further along. By the time they reached the lake barely visible at the river’s turn, they would be roughly one day’s hard ride away from the next town of any notable size, Hunter’s Reach.

Fenris offered the best consolation to Anders that he could. “I wanted to stop at the lake ahead anyway. We could both use a bath. If we don’t make any unplanned stops, we’ll be there in an hour.”

“I hope you don’t expect me to wait for after a bath,” Anders interjected petulantly.

Fenris chuckled. “No. Today you provided ample proof that you are a dirty old man.”

Anders looked annoyed. Fenris had teased him relentlessly about many things on various occasions, but his age was not one of them. In the context of repeated teasing followed by cold refusals, Anders did not take the insult lightly. “I’ll show you who’s an old man,” Anders said as he rallied his horse. “Come on, girl! Hyah!” Fenris followed gladly. They galloped at full speed towards the distant lake.


	4. The Falcon

The hour’s journey to the lake took them only twenty minutes at full gallop. Their horses jumped over small creeks that fed into the steadily flowing main waterway. The river became knee deep by the time it joined itself to still blue waters. The mountain range to the far west and the vanishing plateau to the east were the only obstructions to the sky. A sparse line of pine trees followed the far edge of the lake, and it is there they dismounted after finding a space unlittered by rocks and other washed up debris.

Despite the hard ride, Fenris arrived unwinded and perfectly poised. Anders was, if anything, wilder in temper than before. He grabbed the bedroll and began dismounting before his horse even reached a full stop. With a strong shake, he spread the bedroll out wide along the ground. He yanked his clothes off in quick, angry motions. The Tevinter chantry amulet he had taken to wearing swung widely before settling again on his neck. Down to his boots and trousers, he cursed at the difficulty of undoing his boot laces.

Fenris looked on with amusement, still down to his tunic and leggings from their last stop. He dismounted leisurely and gathered the reins of Anders’ horse. He coughed an introduction. “I am trying to calculate,” he interjected, “how many locations for us you spotted. Including those you didn’t share.”

Anders stopped for a moment, the question intriguing enough to make him momentarily forget his haste. “At first,” Anders admitted, “I didn’t want to waste my chances. I gave you only a small fraction of what I saw. After you asked, I told you everything. Then towards the end, when we argued, I stopped mentioning them entirely. But honestly, by then every third patch of ground looked appealing to me.”

“Good,” Fenris said, nodding. He tilted his head, eyes fixed blankly, as his lips murmured in an unshared equation. Satisfied, he shed his tunic. “You must have imagined us in over a hundred places today.” He tied the horses’ reins to the nearest tree, inhaling the pine scent deeply as he turned back around.

Anders grinned. “We do get around, don’t we?” The mage finally succeeded in unlacing one boot and turned to the other. “And there I thought the desert would be boring. Silly me.” He wiggled one foot free from its boot and sock and stretched, comfortable in his nakedness over the soft bedding. He turned his attention to his second boot, again cursing the naughtier portions of Andraste’s body. “Also, silly me for thinking you would stop at any point before the end. You really had me going there.”

Fenris peeled off his leggings. He stroked himself idly while he watched Anders struggle with his boot. The blonde finally freed the laces on the second boot and pulled it off. Upon looking back up, Anders caught his breath, swallowing. He began panting like a dog in the hot sun. Fenris grinned at the reaction. “How did it make you feel, searching?” Anders whimpered, hands catching in the laces of his trousers in his haste to get them off. He considered his answer as he threw the pants toward their horses. Fenris folded his clothes and placed them in his horse’s pack. He also stowed away Anders’ discarded outfit.

Fenris could feel eyes passing over his body. He took his time walking over to join Anders on the bedroll. Anders watched every fluid motion with delighted eyes and a half open mouth. “Hmm, how did I feel, scouring the landscape in hopes of you? Aroused? Anxious? Eager? All that and more.” The last sentence was spoken gently as Fenris settled into a graceful heap, pulling Anders’ over with him. They rolled around for a minute, muscles straining, until Fenris predictably pinned Anders’ wrists above his head.

Lulled by the constriction, Anders continued his confession. “You made me feel incredibly frustrated, but also erotic and beautiful. Cared for. Thought of. Held, even in the desert sun. And yet, unsatisfied, unrecognized, left wanting, tortured and teased. Basically, you confused the hell out of me. Happy?”

“Mmm,” Fenris agreed heartily. “And what did you imagine us doing?” Anders turned his head up to look into inscrutable eyes framed in shadow by gleaming white hair. He recognized Fenris was trying not to broadcast anything that might influence his impending response. Anders chose to answer with blunt honesty. “Oh, well,” he blushed. “I imagined you inside me, mostly. I thought that’s what you wanted.”

Fenris interrupted. “Not what you wanted?” Fenris was fishing, clearly. They both grinned.

“Well, yes. That too,” Anders admitted agreeably. He arched his body upwards, happy to find Fenris still hard, cock twitching as he listened to Anders’ unprepared stream of consciousness. “I told you I was conditioned, didn’t I?” Anders rubbed back and forth, doing his best to slide their hard lengths together. “But it’s not like I only imagined one thing full stop. Sometimes it was other things as well. Depending on the place. Depending on my mood. More and more the later in the day. It got quite elaborate, you see. I just couldn’t stop thinking about you. But yes, you were always inside me, everywhere I looked.”

Fenris released a sound that started as a hum and roughened into a soft growl. “You have been good today,” he purred. Fenris shifted so that both Anders’ wrists were in one hand. He continued their rocking. Anders eyes closed at this, his lips opening of their own accord. Fenris added, “Very good.” Anders’ body thrust upwards, rubbing harder, a barely contained straining beast panting in the heat.

“Have I?” Anders asked. And he opened his eyes to another shared grin. Now he was fishing.

“Mmmm,” Fenris purred in agreement. Then he took a deep breath, thoughtful. He pushed Anders’ hips down with a firm hand. “Tell me what you want.” He traced lyrium lined fingers along the curves of Anders’ body, watching it follow his touch like a flower following the path of the sun over a summer day.

Anders opened his eyes wider. It was a rare thing for Fenris to request his opinion on anything. He often seemed to know what Anders wanted more than Anders himself did. So this question confused him. But he sensed opportunity in it. Anders thought to himself a moment, then his breath caught.

“I want…” Anders took a deep breath before it too caught in his throat. He shook his head as if to dismiss a farfetched notion. “Just take me. Take me any way you want. Hard. Fast.” Anders was speaking so quickly that Fenris felt certain he was prevaricating. But the emotion was genuine. “Please. I’ve been so good. Please.” Anders was so desperate that he uncharacteristically wanted to be done talking.

Fenris would not allow such weakness. This had been all day in coming, and he was feeling unusually generous. He would not have his heartfelt offer discarded in favor of simple relief, no matter how long it had been. He put on a fierce face, growling, grabbing Anders’ ponytail in a threat of punishment. “I know what you need,” he bellowed. Then he countered, removing the leather tie and stroking his hand over the blonde locks in a soothing motion. His growling lowered, both in volume and pitch. He said it again as a command, using a hushed gravel voice, making Anders strain to hear it. “What do you want?”

Anders looked weak, his limbs losing all muscle function. Then after a breath of resignation and a pause for good measure, he entreated with wide eyes. “Anything?” Fenris nodded, adding an affirmative grunt Anders pleaded. “Are you sure?” Fenris hardened his lips, annoyed at being asked a second time.

Anders swallowed, eyebrows gathering in worry at being rejected. “I want you to scare me.”

Fenris blinked, showing no emotion in response. The lengthy pause spoke for itself. Finally… “Go on.” Fenris released Anders’ wrists, demonstrating his willingness to listen without needing to be in control.

Anders lifted both hands to hold the sides of Fenris’ face. He whispered as if he was afraid someone else might hear. His tone was that of a camper telling ghost stories, the soft sounds of s’s and f’s drawn out into little hisses. “I want you to do something so foul, misshapen, and misplaced, so deeply wrong that it scares even you. I want you to be as afraid of yourself as I am. But no matter how frightened, you’ll have to do it anyway. I want fear, and desire overcoming fear. For both of us. At the same time.”

Fenris pulled one hand up to cover Anders’ on his cheek. He kept the other over a pale hip. “Continue.” Anders moved towards the hand, seeking intimate contact. Fenris gently moved his hand further aside.

“I know you hold yourself in check for me. I can feel it,” Anders took his sexual frustration and molded it into words, bitter at being cut off from something he didn’t understand. “And I want it to end. Whatever that means. Whatever the consequences. Whatever it is that scares you most, that’s exactly what I want.” His volume having gone up with his temper, he now pushed it back to a whisper. “Terrorize me.”

Fenris snarled, spitting out a quick stream of Arcanum, his hackles rising. “You want to break me.”

Anders shrugged, past the point of playing nice. While one hand on Fenris’ cheek still soothed, the other curled itself into talons, long fingers scraping their nails down a thin neck alongside metallic brands. “Yes. Crack you open like an egg and drink the yolk. I don’t even want to understand until it’s too late.” The nails continued down, scraping over skin and brands alike, leaving a row of red marks along chest and stomach both before stopping just below the navel. “Short of death, I don’t want to be able to back out. Not even if I ask. Or beg. Or cry. Until this hateful thing is out there in the open, until you’re laid bare. And I can see you. Smell you. Taste you. All of you. Do you even understand what I’m saying?”

“I do,” Fenris affirmed. There was another thoughtful pause. “You ask for a great deal.” The elf’s eyes rested on the Tevinter chantry amulet around Anders’ neck, recollection sparking his imagination. The memory was still fresh of his fear as he followed Anders from Wildhaven. He panicked thinking the mage would enter Tevinter, where he might be hailed a hero and made a magister. The idea had sickened him, especially knowing that he would follow anyway, that he might end up the slave of the one he sought.

“I know,” Anders admitted. With his honey voice and kind eyes, he gave Fenris every opportunity to decline. Those same warm qualities also gave Fenris every reason to agree. Lips hard, Fenris decided.


	5. The Rattlesnake

Fenris withdrew until he sat back on his calves, resting his weight onto feet pointed behind him. He shut his eyes tight as he psyched himself into speaking his mind. The next sentence finally came via a determined rumble deep in his chest. “Do you want to know my secret?” Fenris pointedly looked down at Anders, his eyes gazing down without mercy, framed by a fringe of white hair.

Anders looked light headed at his success. He gathered himself up, sitting with his legs crossed. “Yes?”

“Each spot you pointed out to me today, I also imagined taking you. Roughly. Thoroughly. To the point of agony.” Fenris clenched his fists in front of his knees, the weight of his arms pressing an indentation into the bedroll. “But I also imagined...” Fenris paused to crack his neck to one side. “…something else… He cracked his neck the opposite direction. “….every time.”

Anders drew his eyebrows together, angling his head, voice breathy. “Something… else? What else?”

“You think you are the only one who has been conditioned?” Fenris’ best teasing voice was overlaid with fire and ice. “The only who wants, who needs?” He rolled his shoulders forward, flexing his biceps.

Anders swallowed. He was not sure what the right response was supposed to be. “I just assumed…”

Fenris drawled, his voice dripping with cynicism. “Yes, assuming has gone so well for you.” He stood up, looming overhead Anders. Forest green eyes bored into the wide amber ones below him. “You assumed Justice would remain your body’s subordinate. Assumed Hawke would tolerate mass murder. Assumed mages are universally oppressed. Should I be surprised that you assume me responsible for your reactions? Assume you did nothing to provoke me? Why take responsibility now? Mage.” The last word was spat out, the cursed insult coming as a blow after it had grown so slowly into a term of endearment.

Anders shook his head, too busy recoiling to keep up with the litany of accusations. “Fenris, I…”

“You tease me relentlessly,” Fenris groused. Anders showed honest surprise, having been too wrapped up in his own desire to imagine that his open expressions of lust might be contagious. “You make me addicted to you. With your filthy mouth and wandering hands and your sun drenched hair. The way you whimper and moan and shiver. It is you who conditions me, Anders.” Anders retreated to a crouch, arms coiling around his legs. “Just because I do not see the magic does not mean it isn’t there. Demon.” Again, Fenris lobbed an insult that he had not used for many weeks, one that hit where it hurt most.

Anders recoiled further, his head dropping between his knees, eyes abjectly turned to the ground. “No, this isn’t like that. I swear… If I’ve changed, it’s because you wanted me to.” Anders crawled into Fenris shadow, seeking absolution, one hand snaking forward but afraid to touch.

“Lies! You use me to protect your worthless hide,” Fenris’ voice dripped with indignance. “I feed you, shower you in coin, cater to your every whim. And still it is not enough, not until I burn with desire for you. You think I have not detected your manipulations? That I would not smell your foul stench?” Fenris leaned over, inhaling, his shadow throwing itself over Anders' face like a blanket.

Anders had been content to listen, switching his gaze from one green eye to another, assuring himself that both eyes showed equal outrage. But the last sentence roused a reaction. “What foul stench?”

Fenris responded with a curdled expression, swiping a hand down Anders’ bowed back and showing him as his fingers dripped cloudy drops of sweat onto the bed roll. “You drip with magic, your mana pool a bottomless cesspit of depravity.” Fenris spit a frothy addition into the small puddle of sweat next to Anders’ face. “You walk as if you expect death itself to bow before you. But I will not submit!” Fenris wiped the back of his hand across his mouth. “My will is strong, grown through pain and suffering. I will make You obey!” Raising a hand up to watch it himself, he activated his lyrium brands with a flash.

“I…” Anders felt some small part of his sanity slip as he realized this went far beyond any simple game between rivals or lovers. Fenris forced him onto his back, and he turned over in a pitiful fetal position. Fenris forced his legs down, making a disgusted sound at the sight of Anders’ erection. Anders mounted a pitiful defense, hands up. “That’s not who I am. I swear it. That’s not what this is.”

“Isn’t it?” Fenris was beyond reason. He grabbed the Tevinter chantry amulet and yanked it from Anders’ neck, the leather tie breaking with a snap. Anders’ his eyes focused on the amulet in a sudden, sickening recognition that the amulet looked to Fenris less like a token of memory than a wish for personal glory. “No,” Anders shrieked. He turned back over hastily, crawling forward to kiss Fenris’ feet in apology.

His submission proved no balm for the boiling cauldron pouring from Fenris’ mouth and eyes. “You’re no better than the rest. Magister in all but name.” The elf pushed the mage away with a determined foot.

Anders looked up. “Fenris?” He had a bad feeling that nothing he said would make any difference.

“I’m sick of being tortured by ambitious would-be magisters,” Fenris spitted. “You wish to turn north and walk as a hero to Tevinter? To be crowned a prophet? First fight me as an equal, while you still have no estate, no social perch to hide upon, no guards to aid you, no slaves to bleed for your power...”

“Fenris.” Anders was quite certain now that Fenris had worked himself into an addled rage, that of all the fears flitting in Fenris’ eyes, relatively few had anything to do with his own actions while in Kirkwall.

“You have cast your last spell on me. I name you nemesis.” Fenris’ eyes were triumphant. He raised his hand, the lyrium brands glowing brighter until his fist was half translucent. “Today I reclaim the life that is mine by rights. I will lay you so low that you will suffocate trying to dig yourself from your grave.”

“Fenris!” Anders was in a genuine panic now. He genuinely feared that the phased warrior would kill him if something didn’t break him from his personal nightmare. In Fenris’ heightened state, basic spells to paralyze him or put him to sleep might not work. His shield would not keep out a phased arm. Anders could either die or defend himself with force. Neither prospect held any appeal. There was too little time to think up a clever workaround.

Eyes wide with mixed fear and guilt, Anders drew back his hand. He intended the open handed blow to the face to be only enough to provoke a shock. At the last moment, he remembered Fenris’ inhuman physical strength and added force to his swing to compensate. The ensuing blow ended as more than a slap, hard enough for Fenris’ face to snap to the side. It was enough to leave a bruise, but nowhere near enough to break bones.

Fenris shook his head, a singular reaction to both the blow to his face and the clearing of his mind.

“Anders?” Fenris narrowed his eyes. His wary gaze took in the bedroll, the line of trees, the horses nearby, and the still lake before returning to the mage before him. Recognition dawned slowly, both of who he was looking at and what he had been about to do. He looked down at his hand, the flesh solidifying as the lyrium brands deactivated. He looked back to Anders, apology writ large in his eyes.

Anders felt a need to break the silence. “What… Who am I to you?” Anders could see Fenris’ growing shock and was determined to keep him from ruminating. This was exactly the sort of thing that he would expect Fenris to run from. Anders would not allow the former slave to run as he had done to Hawke.

Meaning it to be a soothing gesture, Anders reached a hand forward to cup the side of Fenris’ face. He released a gentle pulse of healing to prevent the warrior’s cheek from bruising. The lyrium brands flickered, starting at the elf’s chin and flowing down his torso and out to his limbs. The elf shuddered, responding with pleasure that turned to apoplexy as he mistook the sensation to be a form of personal invasion. Fenris locked his jaw, eyes glazing. “You think your magic will bypass my defenses? You fool!”

The longer the scene went on, the more the whole thing seemed surreal to Anders. He turned to deflection, trying to charm his way out. Anders chided, smiling. “What, now I can’t even heal you?”

Fenris’ answer was a wild growl as he lunged forward. “Grrrah!” He pulled Anders up by yanking on a clump of his hair. After forcing him onto his feet, he charged forward until Anders was frantically peddling backwards. Fenris kept barreling until they broached past the edge of the bedroll. Their momentum only met its end when Anders crashed into a tree on the edge of the clearing, his shoulders pulled back to wrap around the trunk, his neck at the mercy of eager lips. Fenris ravaged the pale flesh, making grunts in his fight against his own desire. Anders shuddered, his head lolling to the side.

Having pinned his victim, Fenris wasted no time grabbing pale thighs to pull them up, exposing Anders for conquest. Anders luckily retained enough presence of mind to cast a hasty grease spell. Caught in an awkward position, he settled for running his greased palm liberally over Fenris’ straining cock in the brief second before it began stretching his entrance. The flash of magic caused the elf’s brands to crackle on briefly. Furious at yet another use of magic, Fenris snarled like a feral dog, burying his cock.

Then Anders was holding on for dear life as he was thrust repeatedly into the tree, his back scraping painfully along the dented bark. Despite the pain and the shock, he was unable to suppress a groan at the sudden breach of his defenses. Fenris made a revolted gagging sound at this reaction. He lowered Anders from the tree, tossing him onto the hard earth once half the distance to the ground was breached. He began putting Anders through his paces, throwing him like a rag doll from one lurid position to another. Anders felt his body responding with heat, even as his muscles went compliantly limp.

In every position, Fenris was too rough. He pushed Anders’ legs so far towards his head the blonde began to whimper and shake. He turned him by pushing him so roughly to the side that the mage landed face first in the dirt, then pulled him back onto all fours him even though this dragged the blonde’s face across the ground. He drove from behind so hard that it took only a few strokes before Anders was forced to drop from his arms to rest on his chest and shoulders, hands spread uselessly beside his head. Even this proved futile, as his legs gave away to the relentless onslaught within minutes.

Angry at the angle of thrusting growing ever more untenable, Fenris forced Anders up and back by yanking the hair at the nape of his neck. Anders ended up seated on Fenris’ lap, the elf using powerful legs to thrust into him with vigorous bounces that less athletic men would find untenable. Finally, the position took its toll. The elf grew a bit winded, and the thrusting slowed. The grunting stuttered and stopped. Fenris looked around, disoriented, seeming surprised that they were not still on the bedroll.

Anders quickly took stock of the situation. His arms, legs, and hips were bruised from Fenris’ hands. There were red scrapes on his hands, knees, and elbows where he tried to brace his fall. One ankle had twisted, throbbing with residual pain. Anders felt only phantom twinges, adrenaline taking over. Instead, he was keenly aware of the dried blood on his split lip, the dirt clinging in dragged lines on one side of his face, his hair tangled and pulled from twigs and pine needles picked up during their tussle. Anders laughed with euphoric madness that it was his vanity that concerned him, not his health and well-being.

It could stop now, if Anders wanted. If he spoke honest words, Fenris’ mind would float back to reality before a second wind arrived. Instead, acting on instinct, Anders conjured a trio of mage lights. He bid them hover around the elf’s head. The use of magic and sense of being taunted pushed Fenris back into whatever headspace he’d occupied. Fenris pushed Anders off and up, spinning him around as he stood himself with an angry snarl. Some sick part of Anders marveled that such a gorgeous face could harbor such ugly fears and potent rage.

The second tree Anders was tackled into was less sturdy than the first. The trunk, only half his width around, buckled under the sudden pressure. It creaked as the upper branches moved a foot, rustling the leaves. A shiny black bird flew from the tree, cawing. Anders felt the muscles in his left shoulder pull. The mage lights followed Fenris halfway to the tree before winking out of existence.

“Fenris?” Anders tried. “I don’t think this is a good idea.” Anders placed his hands solidly on Fenris’ chest and pushed back to relieve the tree from their weight. The warrior grew excited by the mage’s attempt to resist. Fenris pushed himself inside again with an eager thrust and began rutting with all his strength. Each lunge shook the leaves and sent the branches another few inches from their rightful position.

“Wait, this isn’t going to hold,” Anders begged. The tree continued to lurch sideways, becoming a diagonal knife in the earth. “For Maker’s sake!” Anders yelled, feeling his back slipping to one side, “stop it before someone gets killed!” Fenris had no intention of stopping. He grabbed the mages arms and righted his position on the trunk, effectively pinning him with his weight on the diagonal beam. Anders gave up and lifted his legs around Fenris’ waist, putting his full weight on the listing tree.

After giving in, Anders found himself overcome with heightened sensation. He legs instinctively curled close around Fenris, cradling their bodies close together. Finally, their combined weight overcame the tree’s resistance. A crack near the base of the tree grew into a fissure before splitting open. The tree gave a final lurch. Then the branches came crashing down beyond the rutting pair. Anders found himself looking at the world upside down, blood rushing to his head. Fenris had been forced to lean forward to accomodate the new angle but remained determined as ever to continue rutting. The angle of impalement was bizarre but delightful. If Anders hadn’t been trained to wait, he would have come like a geyser from the shock and the friction on his sensitive spot.

Instead, Anders closed his eyes and focused on keeping himself in check. It was almost a meditation, recalling the moments he was praised for keeping calm and collected or punished for losing his patience. Fenris took Anders’ expression as a display of resigned submission and groaned triumphantly. He placed a hand on Anders’ neck and squeezed, coming in fierce pulses as if to lay claim to his victim. Anders keened jealously, his cock twitching, as Fenris closed his eyes, licked his lips, and sighed his completion. When Fenris released his hold on Anders' neck, his body still shuddering in occasional aftershocks, it was like an ominous, threatening storm had been soothed into a gentle rain.

When both pairs of eyes reopened, they seemed to recognize each other in a new way. Fenris looked a little embarrassed, yet, upon reflection, eminently pleased with himself. Anders grinned, reassuring them both that his consent had never been withdrawn. He made a point of looking up towards his own aching member, the tiny gold ring twitching as Fenris’ gaze fell upon it.

Fenris chuckled warmly. “You think I’m done with you?” He whispered, as pleased with Anders as he was with himself. When he pulled out gently, Anders mewled like a hungry kitten staring helplessly at an unopened bottle of milk. Fenris bent forward and wrapped his strong arms around Anders, pulling the mage up and over to sit on a wind smoothed rock a few feet away. He took Anders’ chin between lyrium lined fingers, scratching the bristles of Anders’ stubble as if he stroked a cat’s fur backwards.

Anders’ sexual frustration was communicated through his eyes like a caress, one Fenris welcomed with a possessive grip and knowing sympathy. Fenris was winded, words coming in gaps. “I haven’t told you… what else I was… thinking of… all day.” Fenris sat himself gingerly on the edge of Anders’ knees to rest while he spoke. If he judged his timing correctly, Anders would never know what hit him. At the very least, it should make up for having run Anders through the gauntlet.


	6. Bluebells

Anders couldn’t hold back the laughter at his predicament. When Fenris asked what Anders wanted, he was fairly certain he hadn’t requested a near death experience. Yet here he sat naked on a wind smoothed rock, with a self-satisfied elf seated precariously on the edge of his knees, the two of them only a few feet from a decently sized tree felled by their combined weight. All it had taken to get Fenris to open up was being his usual dashing mage self and openly risking death by the warrior’s hand. Anders’ earnest willingness… no, his eagerness, even… to be terrified probably also helped. And now here they were. Fenris promised more. For once, Anders didn’t know whether to accept the offer.

Oh, who was he kidding? Of course he wanted it. But which did he want more, Fenris or his life? As if sensing his dilemma, Fenris' hand drifted to his back where they made lazy soothing circles, emanating warmth and certainty and near infinite patience.

Hmm. If Anders continued to live without whatever Fenris expected next, it would be with a permanent erection, he was fairly sure. That would certainly get unpleasant eventually. Fenris was uniquely stubborn and would accept no substitute once his mind was set. He would be content to torture Anders indefinitely. Were Anders to satisfy his own urges, he would risk another near death experience by Fenris’ hand. Better to risk whatever Fenris planned. He might die, but he would at least die satisfied.

The elf’s deep velvet voice roused Anders from his train of thought. “You think you are the only one who wants something he should not?” After what had just happened, this idea was terrifying in its own right.

Fenris continued, the smirk coming through in his voice at Anders’ speechless reaction. “Each landmark you pointed out to me, I imagined taking you, as I demonstrated.” Anders felt Fenris’ feet wrapping around the inside of his pale calves. He allowed his legs to be pulled apart and the elf’s with them. Fenris reached a hand back, and Anders waited in fear of his balls being roughly squeezed. He waited in vain.

“But I also imagined…” As Fenris began rocking his hips, Anders groaned as he guessed what Fenris might be doing. The blonde raised his head, angling it to look over Fenris’ shoulder through a tangled veil of his twig entwined hair. Sure enough, Fenris untwined his feet and placed them on Anders’ knees. He began to lean back, the errant hand moving in a motion that could mean only one thing.

Fenris was preparing himself. He had never wanted Anders inside him before. Past suggestions had been either ignored or met with a mix of disdain and angry refusal. Anders came to understand that it was not just a personal preference. It was an issue of trust, a reminder of times long past that Fenris wished to forget. Anders opened his mouth to speak, but Fenris shushed him before the first word came out.

Anders’ concerns were assuaged when Fenris finished his ministrations. The elf considered their position for a split second before acting. Standing up halfway, he reached back to pull Anders’ arms around his shoulders. “You ready?” he warned. It was Anders’ last chance to back out. Damn it. “Yes,” he agreed.

With a loud heave, the warrior planted his feet on the ground and reached behind, grabbing Anders by the biceps. Lyrium brands flashing, he pulled Anders over his shoulder, leveraging his unnatural strength to guide the mage in a high arc over his left shoulder and onto the ground. Once Anders was launched, Fenris watched his flight carefully, timing the fall. He leveraged his legs and rolled forward, tucking his head so that he rolled over his right shoulder. Their final position left Anders on his back, Fenris rolling over and above to face him. Fenris caught his own weight on one arm while cradling Anders’ head with the other before it hit the ground. Fenris flashed his teeth in a self-assured grin as Anders recovered from a dizzy spell and his sheer startlement at having been thrown overhead and tackled during the fall.

Satisfied that Anders was comfortable, Fenris gently extracted his hand from the blonde locks. The same hand drifted up the mage’s neck and down the front of his chest, where it rested over his heart. The other hand found Anders’ casting hand where it sat limply on the ground. A dark raised eyebrow was all it took to communicate, and Anders cast a grease spell with an anticipatory pant. With an unnatural gracefulness, Fenris lifted himself above the blonde, his greased hand stroking an already weeping cock several times leisurely. He thrust two greased fingers inside himself before grasping the blonde’s cock to aim it at his entrance. Finally, he slid down one millimeter at a time, eyes closed in concentration.

Anders understood three things new things about Fenris in quick succession. First, judging by the level of finesse, Fenris had done this before, many times. Second, judging by the tightness of his inner walls and the expression of mild discomfort, it had been months or perhaps years since he last performed this act. Finally, Fenris enjoyed this far more than Anders would have ever imagined. The warrior threw back his head and let out a long, low groan once fully seated, his muscles expanding and contracting repeatedly.

Anders must have looked surprised. When Fenris righted his head and gazed down affectionately, the lyrium lined hand gently pressed down over his heart. As if to counter any weakness shown, Fenris spoke his next words in a commanding baritone. “Move one inch… say one word… And I will kill you.” To punctuate his seriousness, he lit the lyrium brands on the hand pressed over Anders’ heart. Anders sighed, helplessly. He wanted to accept the terms given, but he could not speak. He wanted to nod, but he could not move. He wanted to show he understood. He could only swoon, eyes shining, and wait.

After a moment’s pause, watching Anders carefully to test his ability to follow orders, Fenris began to move. He lifted himself in a perfect vertical line until only the head of Anders’ cock remained inside. Then he dropped with greater speed back down, hissing in pleasure. After repeating this a half dozen times, he stopped a moment before trying something else. Without moving his legs, he moved his torso and hips in a sensuous snakelike motion, Anders’ cock twitching as the muscles around it contracted. Fenris closed his eyes, his head dropping as he concentrated on the sensations and his need for control.

Tongue snaking out to lick his lips, Fenris added a slight lift to the end of each sinuous roll. Anders’ already sensitive cock was being stroked by Fenris’ entire body, the forbidden pleasure a potent aphrodisiac. Anders felt his legs beginning to shake as he fought for control himself. As the motions sped up, Fenris mouth opened into a pant that was perfectly timed to match. He seemed to come back to himself just long enough take Anders’ casting hand into his, and place it gently at his hip, splayed so the palm was placed firm over one lyrium brand. He splayed the fingers until they came in contact with two others. The lit lyrium over Anders’ heart blinked out, the hand removing itself to rest on Fenris’ knees.

Anders furrowed his brow. He had seen no motion wasted so far and guessed something was expected of him. He feared doing anything that would break the spell over the living fantasy moving over him. He certainly could not ask, as this would break the rules. Swallowing, he hazarded a guess and sent the weakest healing spell he could think of through his hand. Fenris moaned, smiling, triumphant at Anders following an order neither specified nor made clear. Anders did it again, noting this time that the lyrium brands lit gently beneath his palms, the light travelling in a wave up the elf’s side and down his leg.

“More,” Fenris commanded. Anders was happy to oblige, if only because the concentration required to cast kept his impending orgasm further at bay. He passed a mid-strength healing spell into Fenris’ body. This time the brands lit across his entire figure, starting at the hip and flowing out to his fingers and toes and up to the brands on his chin. Fenris groaned, his mouth coming back together so he could catch his bottom lip in his teeth. He hips stuttered for just a moment before he resumed his steady pace.

Anders was beside himself at the spectacle. He pushed through one healing spell after another to watch the light show and feel the heat around his cock from clenching muscles. Fenris began rising higher, timing his breathing and his snakelike motions with the rise and fall of his legs. Anders considered that nowhere else could such strength and beauty be found in a single form, much less paired with a mind capable of such singular control. Anders began to time his various spells, pushing the limits of his mana, until the rhythm became a shared heartbeat in perfect harmony with Fenris’ movements. Fenris huffed with each downward push, his mind fraying to heat, eyes staying open only through the greatest effort.

“I can’t…” Fenris stopped himself abruptly, resting both hands on Anders’ chest, head dropped low. Anders whimpered, pushing another healing spell through in encouragement. Looking up, Fenris notice something interesting. He leaned forward and moved his hand up to Anders’ cheek where dirt covered a scrape from being pushed along the ground. “Again,” Fenris whispered. Anders obliged, and this time his eyes opened wide and his hips jerked despite himself. The light travelling up Fenris’ body through his lyrium lined fingers brought warmth to Anders’ cheek, plus a tingly pleasure. Reaching up, Anders found the scrape on his cheek was gone. Their fingers entangled. Fenris had found a way to share what he felt.

Fenris moved his hands to a pair of bruises on Anders’ arms from their earlier tussle. Anders sent out another healing spell into Fenris’ brands, the wave of pleasure from Fenris’ fingers tingling around his arm and to his scraped elbows. The mage looked down to find the bruises gone. They continued this until Fenris was satisfied that Anders was healed from their earlier exertions. The elf even reached behind him to Anders’ knees and legs, delighting in Anders’ reaction as he placed his hands near the pale cheeks to heal there as well. Anders was shaking helplessly, even without further stimulation. They simply stayed in that position as Fenris watched him, smirking. Anders felt his mana replenish itself.

“Fenris, please,” Anders whimpered. “I’ll do anything.” Fenris made a show of licking his lips. “I know.” The elf began to move again, this time combining the snakelike motions with the strength of legs raising him up to the underside of Anders’ cockhead again on each stroke. “Heal,” he reminded. Anders had to shake his head to interpret the sound as a word, finally resuming the healing rhythm he had learned by rote. This time Fenris kept his hands on Anders’ body. He tried a few different locations before settling on his fair hips, his thumbs spread to direct the heat toward the base of Anders’ cock. The two formed a closed circuit, pulses of pleasure passing from one to another only to be renewed again. Anders felt himself falling into a trancelike state, the pleasure rising steadily to a nearly unbearable crescendo.

This is it, Anders thought to himself. I’m going to die. We’re both going to die. And he was okay with it. Mortals were not meant to experience pleasure of this magnitude, surely. Mortality was overrated.

Fenris was grunting again with every downward thrust. Anders was moaning as Fenris reached the upswing, his healing spell returning to him as warmth and pleasure from Fenris’ hands. Being together in this emboldened Fenris to speed his pace. Anders for his part raised the strength of his healing spells to his greatest abilities. Licking his lips again, Fenris reached forward long enough to gently open Anders’ mouth. A tear passed out of Anders’ eye unheeded, so relieved was he to receive unspoken permission to come. A strong heal passed into Anders’ lips, setting off an unstoppable chain reaction. Anders’ orgasm fell upon him with force, causing him to seize and spill as his back arched in utter abandon.

Anders was standing alone in a white room. Not alone. Fenris’ white hair turned to reveal deep green eyes. Anders fell into those eyes as surely as if he jumped into the ocean from a fifty story cliff. But there was no floor in the white room. It was not a room at all. They stood together in the center of the sun.

Fenris for his part straightened his back just in time to feel Anders come undone. He reached up one hand, curling his tightened balls in his palm while his thumb pushed his cock down to the desired angle. As Anders continued pumping his seed into Fenris’ tight channel, the elf let out a strangled moan as his cock shot a warm sticky rope across Anders’ body. It was as if Anders’ come was passing through Fenris’ body and back out, the closed circuit lighting Fenris’ body in white abandon. The first spurt made it to Anders’ mouth, the trail covering his chin and lower neck. The next spurts spattered the blonde’s chest and stomach. Finally Fenris released a final spurt that drooled down to a thumb at the base of his cock.

They burned in the white hot sun together. They floated together until the world returned to them.

Fenris helpfully brought his thumb up to Anders’ mouth Still suffering from jerking aftershocks, Anders swallowed before snaking a tongue out to meet Fenris’ thumb. The blonde rolled his tongue into a curved bowl to accept the offering, another aftershock hitting him with the taste. Humming contentedly, Fenris dismounted with a shudder. He leaned over to gather more cum from Anders’ body with his long elven tongue, the pointed tip a spear travelling up the blonde’s body to follow wet trails left there. After gathering all he could, Fenris brought his tongue to Anders’ mouth. Anders lunged forward in desire, but Fenris pulled back in warning, curling his tongue inwards to cradle his offering. Sighing, Anders carefully closed his mouth over just the tongue, leaving the elf’s lips untouched. The blonde suctioned the cum off as they both moaned a final time. Then Fenris fell sated into Anders’ arms.

They lay together for several minutes, cooling off with Anders’ arms wrapped around Fenris’ shoulders and chest. Fenris wrapped his legs around Anders’, pulling their lower halves closer together. After a deep, pleased sigh, Fenris said something Anders thought he would never hear. “Thank you.”

Anders looked down, bemused. “Who are you,” he slurred, “and what have you done with Fenris? Not that I mind, really. But he’s decided I’m not allowed to heal him. So he’ll be mad when he gets back.”

Fenris sighed, resigned to a little teasing.


	7. Oasis

The developing couple cooled on the bedroll as the sun dipped in and out of wispy clouds, the light shifting pink and gray before shining yellow again. Anders looked up toward the clouds, content to let his mind float along with them. Fenris raised himself onto one elbow to look Anders over with an appraising eye. It was as if he saw for the first time, his eyes darting over Anders’ face and body, always returning to gaze deeply into glazed amber eyes, seeking verification to an unspoken question.

Finally, Fenris nodded to himself. He pulled himself up to a seated position and wrapped a hand around Anders’ arm. “Get up.” It was less a stern command than a no nonsense expectation.

“Mrmmmmrahrlghrg,” Anders protested. The pale arm responded limply to Fenris’ pull.

Fenris tried a more soothing tactic, appealing to the blonde’s hedonism. “Anders, it’s time for a bath.”

Anders waved a hand dismissively. “Too tired.” The hand flopped down to rest on his pale stomach.

“Come on,” Fenris said more sternly. Then he nudged with his foot. “I want to show you something.”

“Nah,” Anders sighed with affection, not bothering to shift his eyes. “I’m pretty sure I’ve seen it all now.”

Fenris smirked. “You have not,” he said with equal affection. “Come.” The elf stood up. He walked to the horses just long enough to remove their soap and the towel from Anders’ pack. After a moment lying there alone, Anders looked over and sulked. He reluctantly stood and let himself be led forward.

“Fine,” he acceded. “But only because you’re smiling.” The blonde looked terribly pleased with himself.

“Am I?” Fenris raised his free hand to his face to be sure. He had not been conscious of his expression.

“Mmm,” Anders confirmed contentedly. “It’s a good look on you. You should do it more often.”

Fenris harrumphed, not wanting Anders to take too much pleasure in an inadvertent slip. Still, he could feel the smile sliding back into place the moment Anders spied the lake they were approaching. The mage’s feet tried to skid them to a halt, but Fenris pulled him forward by the arm. As Anders had feared, Fenris pulled Anders in front of him as they reached the water, forcing him to gaze at his own reflection.

“There,” he said. “The last time we met the water’s edge, I introduced you to a foolish object worthy only of ridicule. I held an intervention. Showed you something worth saving. You rejoined the living, but still you were like a starved beast. Now look. A few weeks with me, and you are almost human again.”

“Almost human?” Anders chided. “Fenris, I look like a hot mess.” He lifted a hand to his hair, tousled into a bird’s nest full of twigs and pine needles, hopelessly tangled. Half his face was smeared with dirt.

“Yes, well. Perhaps that is my doing,” Fenris admitted. “So I am rather proud of my hot mess. Come.”

Fenris walked back to the water’s edge and held out his hand. Anders noted as their reflections stood side-by-side that he felt overshadowed by Fenris, even though he stood the taller of the two. The elf seemed an otherworldly creature, perfect movement performed by a perfect body, swirling metal brands reflecting the water’s sheen. Taking the offered hand, Anders spoke against his better judgment.

“Fenris, I appreciate this. I do.” Anders looked forlorn, feet holding him back from the water’s edge. It was as if he declined to merge with his own reflection. “But you must know that I don’t deserve you.”

Fenris smirked. “Does anyone?” Anders looked over and laughed, impressed. Even a week ago, Fenris would not have been capable of such a statement, even in jest. Anders was getting through to him.

Fenris looked wistful, as he always did when about to voice some profound sentiment or another. “Sometimes trust must be given before it can be earned.” He gave Anders’ hand a squeeze before pulling him forward again. This time Anders followed. Fenris led him into the lake, figures and reflections merging, wiry legs making silent ripples in the cool lake water as Anders’ clumsy splashes tread behind.

“That said,” Fenris added in a darker tone, “there will be a price to pay if you betray my trust.” The sarcasm dripping from his voice promised that the penalty would be delicious for at least one of them.

Anders shivered, imagining both potential punishments and rewards. As they stood thigh deep in the lake, Fenris turned and whispered into Anders ear. “If you wish me to give back to you in equal measure, you must be more than very good. More than human. More than perfectly obedient.” Anders shuddered again. Fenris smirked, whispering. “To meet my standards, nothing less than a minor saint will do.”

Fenris turned as though the matter were settled. Anders’ brow furrowed. “I… I don’t know if that’s a fair expectation.” Anders reluctantly let go of the hand that led him. Unfazed, Fenris waded forward until he was chest deep in the water. Expression unreadable, he turned to face Anders and methodically washed himself with the soap, motions economical and brief. Anders watched him with a nervous expression. The blonde finally waded in until his waist was covered, stopping a few yards away, watching warily.

Fenris smiled openly. “Perhaps not fair. But you like a challenge. I would expect nothing less from the crazed apostate who overturned my naïve view of the world.” Fenris dipped his hair below the waterline and scrubbed it with soap. He thought to himself while rinsing. “You are the one good and powerful mage who proves the exception to every rule I learned to keep myself safe.” Fenris raised his head from the water and shook his hair out into wayward spikes. “It would be easier if I hated you. But I cannot. So instead, I will help you in whatever way I can. With luck, you will lead the way for others of your kind.”

“It’s funny,” Anders quipped. “Because you’re the only one with any sense of direction. I can’t tell north from left. And when I’m not just following your lead, it’s all I can do to just react to my surroundings.” Anders lifted one foot up to examine the rounded stone held between his toes. “Is the bottom of the lake supposed to be this rocky?” Fenris laughed, giving up on seriousness. Anders continued. “Oh, well. When you’re in the middle of nowhere, who cares how things are supposed to be?” The blonde grinned.

Fenris waded back over and bent to pull Anders’ legs out from under him. After Anders half-heartedly attempted to splash the elf away, Fenris ending with him cradled in his arms. Fenris waded back out until he stood shoulder high in the water. Anders’ hair floated in gentle eddies on the surface. Fenris turned the blonde around in a lazy circle, the mage falling into a state of bliss. Anders sighed, smiling.

Anders lifted his eyes to gaze back up at the clouds, the streaks now painted pink and purple from the setting sun. Fenris did not ask what Anders was thinking, suspecting there was no answer. He simply washed him, taking his time. His palms and fingers followed every curve and hollow of the blonde’s body, memorizing scars along the way. Anders began humming with each outward going breath like a contented cat. After taking care with his face, Fenris turned to Anders’ hair. He nimbly pulled out the twigs and leaves and needles and burrs before applying soap and scrubbing slowly with his nails along Anders’ scalp. The pleased hums threatened to turn into moans. Fenris shook his head, rolling his eyes.

Anders mused. “You sure you don’t want to take advantage of me in this vulnerable state?”

“You’re exhausting,” Fenris admitted ruefully. “Another day. Though I have never seen you so relaxed.” Fenris began walking back towards shore, content to keep Anders in his arms up to the edge of the lake.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been so relaxed,” Anders agreed. “I’ve spent my whole life running. Running from Templars. From responsibility. Or towards freedom. Or adventure. A better world. For the first time, at this moment, I’m exactly where I want to be. The word is imperfect, but I don’t care. My only worry right now is whether you plan to take full advantage of me tomorrow morning. Fully rested, of course.”

“Tomorrow,” Fenris bargained, “you may wake me however you like.” Fenris finally released Anders’ legs, letting them drift back down. Anders reluctantly stood, his wet hair cascading water as it rose.

Anders gave an intrigued hum. “And what if I decide to wake you with cold water on your face?”

“Then I will punish you,” Fenris laughed. “And it will still be a good morning for one of us.”

Anders pouted, but mostly he was put out at having to walk on his own two feet to exit the lake. The two painted a lovely pair of figures, wet bodies dripping as they lent their shadows over the setting sun’s reflection on the water. They held hands until they returned to the bedroll, Anders forming the inner spook as Fenris pulled the covers around them. They snuggled together, not even bothering to dry off.

The pine trees creaked and swayed in the wind that night. Each of them woke to the sounds well after dark. Each was content to watch the other sleeping until they drifted back to dreams of tomorrow.


	8. Pheasants

Fenris awoke to the smell of meat cooking, dripping fat causing the fire to spit and hiss. He was alone in the bedroll, still naked. Anders crouched nearby, barefoot in his trousers, turning the spit on a pair of small birds. Makeshift branches shoved into the hard earth held the spit in place over the fire.

Fenris sat up, looking through the wayward hair in front of his eyes. “What’s that smell?” A rich, warm scent wafted out from the fire, accompanied by hints of olive oil and fresh herbs.

“You awake?” Anders looked over bemused at Fenris’ ruffled hair and half opened eyes. The mage took another spare stick and poked at the roasting birds. Satisfied at their progress, he removed the spit.

“Apparently, yes.” Fenris reached out a hand, beckoning towards the meat as he kicked the covers aside casually. Anders slid one of the birds onto his poking stick and handed it over to Fenris.

“Just making sure,” he clarified with his mouth half full. “I wouldn’t want to miss your expression. Ooh, hot, careful.” Juices dripped down the blonde’s chin. He wiped them off with a freckled forearm.

Fenris raised one dark eyebrow, turning the stick to keep grease from dripping from the meat. Anders continued. “You told me to wake you however I wanted. I chose a uniquely Pheasant way to do it.”

Fenris scowled at the pun, wrinkling his nose. “Ugh.” His expression went from sour to satisfied, his tongue lapping out to stop the trail of grease before it reached his chin.

“Now you’re awake,” Anders confirmed with a chuckle. “Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t wake you before. I chased the poor things halfway across the lake to keep them from clucking in your ear.”

Fenris spared Anders a bemused glance. “Why not use a spell to paralyze them?” Fenris reached toward the fire and grabbed the canteen set aside there, taking a swig before offering it to Anders.

“And risk the magic waking you up? No, thank you,” Anders admonished. “Besides. Lightning spell is a favorite old trick of mind. Guaranteed to wake the cranky elf if cast too close, but it seals the juices in.”

The two ate in silence for several minutes. Anders joined Fenris on the unused end of the bedroll. As Fenris let out a satisfied hum, he reached to Anders’ mouth to wipe off more trailing grease. Anders looked back with undisguised lust, taking Fenris’ finger into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue.

Anders continued until Fenris’ nostrils flared and he threw the last bones from his makeshift breakfast into the fire. Anders released the lyrium lined finger with a pop and spoke with an almost apologetic tone. “Look, I understand you may not want to talk about last night. Or Danarius in general. But…”

Indeed, Fenris looked instantly perturbed. “Spit it out.” Anders looked down in a show of submission, but he did not stop. Instead, he put a reassuring hand on Fenris’ knee before continuing.

“You haven’t done that with anyone, have you? Since… Danarius.” The last word was a whispered question, but both knew it to be more a statement. Fenris’ expression was all the confirmation needed.

“I suspect there are more things like that,” Anders added nervously. “Things that haunt you.” Anders traced a slow finger along Fenris’ arm to soften his words, still averting his eyes. “It’s only natural. Even a fiend who cares only for himself can stumble across something good accidentally, now and then, right?”

Trying not to look flustered, Fenris smoothed his hair into place. “And why would I tell you?”

“Because otherwise you’ll never be completely free,” Anders sighed. He looked up with rich honey eyes, showing genuine concern and affection. “You’re letting him take those things away from you. Things you would otherwise enjoy. He… tainted them. Made them ugly. But there’s nothing ugly about you. I’ve seen you sleeping. I know scary dreams from sexy dreams. When it’s both, it makes a man wonder.”

Fenris kicked his feet at the edge of the bedroll to straighten it, making a move to get up. “You do not want to hear it.” Anders put both hands gently on Fenris’ shoulders, urging him to stay a little longer.

“You’re wrong,” Anders countered. He ran his long fingers down the elf’s torso, his mouth following. “I want to help you take back anything and everything from him that you can.” He wanted to say, ‘Make it ours.’ He considered the possible implications of the words and instead said, “Make them… yours.” He circled a tongue around Fenris’ nipple, fingers teasing the other nub. Fenris stopped trying to get up.

Anders continued tracing Fenris’ body with his fingers, one hand down each thigh as his head lowered. “Tell me,” he breathed. As Anders took a single slow lick up the elf’s cock, dark green eyes lost their resolve. Fenris’ words stumbled out. “He would pound me until I bruised and tore,” His tone of voice warned of worse to come. He looked at Anders with worried eyes, but Anders gave a reassuring smile.

“Well, no tearing,” Anders decided. “It’s not my style, and I’d rather not risk infection.” Fenris nodded. “But bruising?” Anders shrugged. “I’ve been told I’m stronger than I look.” The mage swirled his tongue around the head of the elf’s cock, licking the front a few times to a hum of approval. Anders moaned, back arching. He turned his head aside, blushing, at his open arousal at Fenris’ willingness to share. Anders wanted to be supportive, not creepy. He took a breath and decided to cover with equanimity.

“As you get close,” Anders elaborated, “I’ll put my casting hand right here.” The mage reached a hand under Fenris’ to the small of his back. His other hand began stroking Fenris to cover the span of time it was taking to speak his response. “And when you come, I’ll heal like my life depends on it. Because maybe it will, at least the first time. Lucky for you, I’m not afraid to live dangerously. You’ll come out in the same shape you started in, or even better. The next time you have lower back pain, let’s talk.”

It sounded so matter-of-fact and unconcerned that Fenris looked a little impressed. Anders could feel Fenris’ cock stiffening further, though whether from his honest proposal or his nimble stroking was unclear. The blonde eagerly took the elf’s cock into his mouth, forcing it greedily to the back of his throat and swallowing. The elf groaned, feeling encouraged, his emotional defenses falling aside.

“He would choke me until I could no longer breathe,” Fenris admitted. “I fainted on more than one occasion.” Anders paused only a moment, concealing a slight worry, before he began bobbing his head, providing reward for another secret. Fenris ground his hips slowly up into Anders’ mouth. It was like watching an onion peel itself, years of shame and self-recrimination being replaced by simple abandon.

“Mmm,” Anders sounded interested. He gingerly removed his mouth, his hand instantly taking its place on the now slick cock, wet sounds accompanying his honey sweet voice. “Lucky for you, I’m somewhat of a medical expert on anatomy. I know when to stop. You’ll never faint with me. At least, not from that.” Anders took Fenris into his lips and swallowed it down ever so slowly, grinning all the while as it passed his gag reflex. He released the cock again with a pop. “If you’re overcome by my charm and wit, I refuse to be held accountable.” He smirked, adding liberal tongue to the next slow descent.

Fenris twined his fingers into Anders’ hair, emboldened by the accommodating reactions so far. He fucked openly into Anders’ mouth, the depth and rhythm of his thrusts measured to be pleasurable for both of them. He began groaning quietly with his thrusts. Anders reached up to tenderly fondle his balls.

Fenris took a deep breath. “When I reached the edge, he often made me beg him to stop.” Anders lifted his head to consider this one. “I see where you got your control,” the blonde noted. “Mmm,” Fenris agreed. Anders returned to his ministrations, placing his palms gently on each thigh as the gears in his head turned. He finally asked the question that was burning in his mind. “And did you? Beg?”

Fenris pushed Anders’ head back down, annoyed at the interruption. But after another moment, he answered the question. “At first, no. Eventually, yes.” Fenris gave one hard thrust up despite himself. Anders felt the pressure in his throat as Fenris took out his residual frustration on Anders’ mouth.

Anders again pushed his mouth off, despite Fenris’ hand on his head. “And did he stop?” Fenris growled this time. Anders smiled, looking up with such patient adoration that his interruptions were forgiven. Anders leveraged his hands to press Fenris’ legs open. The thighs seemed reluctant to part. Anders slid two fingers along Fenris’ cock and applied his mouth over the cock and fingers together.

“It depended on his mood,” Fenris huffed. He seemed to want to distract himself at this moment, the words coming out with pained resistance. “He always indulged himself but preferred me to be… controlled. Sometimes he stopped. If he did not stop and I could not control myself, I was punished.”

Anders opened his eyes wide, curious what Fenris being punished might look like. Anders slid the fingers out of his mouth, circling one gently around Fenris’ exposed entrance. He lifted his flushed lips just barely long enough for a quick question. "Can I ask how?”

Fenris looked down fondly, “If you overstep your bounds any further, I will show you.” Even as he said this, Fenris opened his legs in invitation. Anders gaped, his mind somersaulting from the mental jujitsu that turned Fenris’ confessions into a weapon he now felt helpless to resist. Anders sighed, his body shuddering in pleasure. Unheeding the threat of punishment, he slipped his finger inside Fenris. The elf’s body reacted instantly, launching into a liquid abandon that arched from his shoulders to his toes. Fenris’ mouth opened, his breathing hard, as Anders plunged his mouth down in time with his fingers.

Anders added a second finger, and Fenris groaned deeply. Anders remembered well the elf’s position over his cock the previous evening and was able to match the angle within a few more strokes. The elf seemed lost, then, his body rolling in sinuous waves without thought. While Anders’ mouth and fingers sped to meet the writhing rhythm, his free hand cupped and rolled the elf’s balls as they drew inward.

Fenris’ moans grew louder until they stuttered along with the motions along his body. Anders’ eyes rolled in the back of his head, the deep reverberations of Fenris’ voice reaching into his soul somehow. Usually the elf was tightly controlled or viciously aggressive, never so passively responsive to pleasure. Acting on instinct, Anders buried the cock in his mouth until his lips nestled in the dark shiny hair below. Anders swallowed, over and over, thirsty and horny and moaning as loudly as his full mouth allowed. When Fenris came, Anders moaned right alongside the deeper groans, though he remained untouched himself. After swallowing all the pleasure he could, Anders sat back up, cock aching.

Anders was left wondering whether Fenris was as touched by all this as he was. He decided it was not the time to ask. He deflected to another question instead. “Now wasn’t that a nice way to wake up?”

Fenris took a moment to collect himself before deeming Anders worthy of an answer. “Yes,” he indulged. He gave a last satisfied moan, arching his hips to guide Anders’ fingers out.

Anders pursed his lips. “Do you still intend to inflict some horrific punishment on me from your past?”

Fenris smiled self-indulgently. “Oh, yes,” he confirmed. “You chose it of your own free will.” Fenris closed his eyes in a mixture of afterglow and fantasy about whatever this punishment entailed.

Anders failed to respond. After a moment, Fenris opened his eyes. His brows furrowed in concern. Anders suddenly going quiet usually meant he was either overcome with lust or startled into shock. This was neither. Anders was withdrawing into himself, eyes at the ground as he lost himself in thought.

Fenris was not above reevaluating. “Don’t you want your own release?” He lifted a foot to run the arch along Anders’ calf and partway up his thigh. When this got no response, he tilted Anders’ face up.

Anders’ expression was concerned, hard. Then just as suddenly the levity returned. “No, I think I’ll wait.”

Fenris paused, searching. Then he let out a genuine laugh. A glimmer of pride showed in Fenris’ eyes. This marked the first time Anders had ever chosen self-control over immediate sexual gratification.

“Mind you,” Anders admitted, “I expect I’ll be crawling up the walls of our room in Hunter’s Reach.”

Fenris laugh died down. He mused in good nature. “Who said we’re getting a room?”

“I did. Just now.” Anders looked haughty, pulling himself up, his shoulders squared. “You don’t get to punish me for giving you everything you want. If I’m to be punished, dear Leto, I plan to earn it.”

While Anders cast a paralysis glyph on Fenris with one hand, he grabbed their canteen with the other. Fenris’ eyes opened wide as he watched Anders cast a low grade cold spell that chilled the nearby air.

“After all,” Anders mused, “I could have woken you up a completely different way.” He took his time pouring the almost frozen water in the canteen over Fenris’ face as the elf endured it in powerless silence. “You want a minor saint? Well, you ungrateful sodding elf, catch me if you can!”

Anders mounted his horse in a hurry, tucking the tunic waiting on his saddle into the band of his trousers for safekeeping while he made his getaway. Before setting forward, Anders thought to cast a paralysis spell on Fenris’ horse for good measure. By the time Fenris was able to move again, Anders was already too far gone for easy catching. Fenris’ horse gave a startled whinny, to their mutual dismay.

Fenris took his time, stamping out the fire and putting away the bedroll before setting off. It was only as he mounted his horse, now shuffling in confusion, that he felt the pain from his brands return. Anders had sped past the limit of their magical bond, leaving Fenris’ skin to throb persistently. Fenris growled. He had all but forgotten what constant pain felt like, what it did to his mood, how angry it left him.

Fenris chased after Anders all day, smiling grimly to himself at the reminder of earlier days in their shared journey. He sometimes saw the mage in the distance. He even caught up partway when Anders stopped to let his horse drink and rest, no doubt eating rations as well, though it was impossible to tell from the speck in the distance. Then Fenris was forced to stop himself when his horse got winded.

Fenris caught up with a half dozen tumbleweeds that day. Anders remained an elusive target.

That evening, Anders demonstrated his uncanny ability to simultaneously challenge, tease, and infuriate Fenris. Just before dusk, the warrior arrived at the tavern on the outskirts of town where he had anticipated getting a room for the night. Instead of finding Anders at the Owl’s Nest, he was handed a written note that instructed him to pay the bar tab and head to the florist’s shop across the street.

The proprietor of Flowers of Thedas glanced nervously at the large sword on the elf’s back. She kindly informed Fenris that, per Anders’ instructions, she was not supposed to provide directions until after the completed purchase of a dozen red roses. Fenris begrudgingly complied, after which he was directed to a restaurant further in town. At the Cazador Grill, he was handed a large take-out order containing a variety of rare meats (Most unusual, monsieur. For future reference, we require a reservation!) which he of course also had to pay for. In the bag was a note which simply spelled two words in capital letters. To his embarrassment, the elf was forced to ask the maître d’ for directions to Yoohoo Sailor.

This last side trip turned out unsurprisingly to be store selling intimate apparel and accessories. A bag was waiting with a smooth wooden plug, a jar of scented oil, and a pair of fur lined leather cuffs. As Fenris paid the bill, he noted with anticipation that he was near enough to Anders that the pain from his brands faded. Nestled in the bottom of the bag was a crisp white parchment with neatly penned instructions to an upscale inn nearby. Fenris’ arms were full, his coin purse now significantly lighter.

With a cough, the inn’s receptionist patiently explained that it was company policy to require guests to sign themselves in and tender payment for the room in advance. And also, if sir did not mind, could he add the name of his, ahem, guest to the register? Said guest had already been let into the room and had assured the receptionist at the Theradon that the suite would be paid for forthwith. The room cost a gold sovereign. Plus a small advance fee to cover any incidental damage to the room’s furnishings.

Anders would indeed have been crawling up the walls if he had not already handcuffed one of his own wrists to a bedpost of the canopied bed. He stroked himself languidly with his free hand while waiting, sprawling across white silk sheets covered with rose petals. By the time the night was over, Anders would become intimately familiar with every single object Fenris had purchased, both ends of the canopied bed, the heated tub, the floor, and every wall in the room, of which there were exactly seven.

Fenris never did punish Anders per se. The complete ruination of their suite sufficed to make his point.

**Author's Note:**

> If you are the type to enjoy listening to music while reading, I wrote this to Steve Reich’s Music for 18 Musicians. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zLckHHc25ww


End file.
